Mohawk and Gay Kid: Play
by kitsunechibiko
Summary: A continuation of Mohawk and Gay Kid, although it can be read alone. Puckurt, so don't like, don't read. Puck's trying to get Kurt in bed, but the diva's not gonna fall so easily. Set before "Bad Reputation", after "Home".
1. Game

**This seems like a difficult time for Puckurt shippers. _Glee_ has made Puck LOVE Quinn definitely and Kurt's getting a boyfriend. I'm not against any of those things, but Puckurt is still my favorite pairing; I have no clue how "Sam" is going to fit with Kurt. So I'm sending this out early. My original plan was to complete the entire thing before posting it, but I'm afraid if I wait too long, Puckurt will seem even more doubtful. I hope this paring can stick it at least until _Glee_ gives Kurt his man. Oh, I'm rambling and worrying for nothing. Imagination will never die. **

**My entire MaGK series has decidedly been set before "Bad Reputation". So Jesse's here and Puck doesn't know how to love Quinn and I will be ignoring some now-known facts as well as integrating some things from the later episodes, most likely out of context.**

**So here's bringing you to the story!**

It is another morning at McKinley High; Puck is ogling Kurt who is actually not ogling Finn who is ogling Rachel who is giggling with her boyfriend. Things have really changed since freshmen year.

Yesterday, Puck had set a deadline: fuck Kurt Hummel before the month ends. He has a little over two weeks, but he's extremely confident in himself. Have you seen his guns? Who could resist that? No girl in Lima and definitely not some fairy boy.

He had thought of the smaller teen all of last night—he never does homework anyway—and had actually come up with a strategy. It was foolproof: flaunt himself until Kurt's on his knees and begging. The plan has never failed him before.

The mohawk-ed jock saunters over and places one hand on the open locker door, the other on the lockers next to Kurt. The effect is a deceptively threatening position and a cornered gay kid; Kurt is trapped between his open locker and the larger teen's chest. Puck has also pressed himself up against the diva's back and is breathing into his ear.

"Morning," he purrs and smirks when Kurt gasps quietly. He leans in for a second, so that the blue-eyed boy will memorize the feel of his body, and then promptly leaves.

Step one complete.

* * *

Kurt has no clue what just happened. Close contact, body heat, his heart pounding in his ears, a low, sexy voice; it made his head spin. And those arms—unmistakably Puck. The muscle definition… It made him think of the feel of the jock's pecs against his back. He can't help the pleasurable shiver that runs up his spine.

The incident had been purposely sexual. What was Puck doing?

* * *

Kurt has been hyper-aware of Puck. He's always on the lookout in case the jock decides to try another stunt. He is surprised to find that the mohawk-ed teen seems to be everywhere: the math class he never attends, always near him in the hallway, across from him at the lunch table, next to him in glee. He is even in the bathroom Kurt walks into.

His raging teenage hormones and memory of that morning three days ago cause him to flush at every flash of strong muscles and tan skin. Which somehow happens a lot. Today Puck is walking around shirtless for some reason the teachers believe but no one else buys. The male soprano's eyes instantly hone in on the nipple piercing. Weren't those against school rules?

Didn't stop him from adding it to his secret Puck fantasies.

So the diva is all kinds of frustrated but keeps his resolve not to acknowledge the delinquent. This all had to be some kind of cruel trick.

But beyond always being around, the jock doesn't seem to do any of this as a jab to Kurt. He never looks at the gay teen or treats him differently than before—just like the other glee jocks, he hasn't given any gleek a slushie facial or dumpster dive.

Kurt is genuinely confused, perpetually flustered, and hopelessly aroused. Something's going on, although he isn't sure what. But he does know one thing: he is finished with acting like a helpless schoolgirl. If Puck wants attention so badly, then Kurt will give him a taste of his own medicine.

* * *

It's Monday morning and the mohawk-ed teen is smirking to himself as he leans against Kurt's locker, waiting for his prey. Step two was complete. He knew Kurt was thinking of him all the time and he could feel the fag's eyes on him every time he was around. He'll move on to the next phase: give Kurt some attention so the smaller teen would excite himself with ideas that Puck the Sex Shark wanted him.

But the jock freezes when he sees Kurt sashaying down the hall. The fairy's acting the same way, but it's his clothes that get him. Skin-tight, all black, muscles prominent through his sleeveless shirt, ass perfectly accentuated by the black jeans. And his hair is different, too. Spiked up, edgier. No prim and posh bangs to the side. He looks masculine and homo at the same time. And although he looks the least like a girl than ever, Puck realizes he appreciates the change as his pants become uncomfortably tight.

What. The. Fuck?

* * *

Kurt smirks as he catwalks to his locker, taking in Puck's shocked face as well as the double-takes and whispers from people around him.

"What do you want, Puck?" he asks in his same diva high-pitched voice. Although his tone is annoyed, he lifts one hand from akimbo position and brings it to the back of his neck. The move appears casual, but it achieves its purpose, adding a suggestiveness to Kurt's words.

Kurt has decided to play Puck's game. He isn't going to act any differently toward the jock, but he _is_ going to flaunt himself like an expensive whore. And the author means that in a good way.

The diva rolls his eyes when the larger teen just stands there. "Puck. Move."

Still dazed, Mohawk steps away from the locker.

"Thank you", the younger teen clips out.

At the haughty tone, Puck snaps out of it and feels anger well up inside him as he realizes that Kurt was getting the best of him. He quickly grabs the soprano's shoulders and pins him against the still-closed locker door.

They are facing each other, arms length apart. Kurt is afraid, but as always, he doesn't show it. He makes sure his expression says, 'And what exactly were you expecting to accomplish with that move, Neanderthal?'

"You better not be harassing my boy, Puck!"

Neither of them breaks eye contact as Mercedes marches up to them.

"Of course not, 'Cedes," Kurt replies confidently. "Puck just wanted to borrow a pen." He reaches into his book bag and pulls out a pen, keeping his hand on the outside of Puck's arm and making sure his wrist just touches the jock's arm.

Blue eyes leave hazel, glancing over the jock's body—also in muscle-accenting clothing—, and he wags his eyebrows once, quickly, in a question. Puck scans over Kurt, a little confused, but when he realizes the similarities in their outfits, it finally clicks that the fairy is playing him at his own game. He smirks, accepting the challenge.

"Yeah, _'Cedes_," he straightens up and slowly takes the offered writing utensil, "just needed a pen."

He catches Kurt's eyes once more before sauntering off, hearing Mercedes say, "That jerk better not be— Damn, white boy! You're looking good!"

Puck smirks as he hears his favorite soprano answer.

"Just wanted to try something new."

The mohawk-ed teen feels Kurt's eyes on him and adds a little more sway to his hips.

**So there you go! I don't need reviews, although I'd love them, and criticism is always a good thing even if I'm scared to flip of it. I hope Kurt and Puck are in character, at least in the context I put them in, or believable. Much luv. **

**P.S. Not only does this story have, like, half of it left, but my MaGK series has at least four parts. I hope I write it all and that you stick with me through it.**


	2. Set

**So special thankies to ****Twisted Ingenue****, ****Utena-Puchiko-nyu****, ****Ezj****, ****WhenYourHeartGivesIn****, ****StoryofGreen****, ****debraelq****, and ****NBKitty****! Special cookies go to ****Twisted Ingenue**** for giving me the longest review so far. You rock, girl! Also thanks to everyone who alert-ed my story! I'm glad so many people like it! Here's bringing you to Puckurt!**

Their game is complicated. Entice, arouse, tease, bait. Can't tell anyone about the game. Can't show outward signs of playing. Can't treat the other any differently—in public. You lose if you give in, and you lose if someone on the outside finds out. And although it's never been said aloud, they both know that the game ends in sex.

Kurt has been trying out different looks. He hasn't gone full-out diva since entering the game. He's done rock star, boy band, sailor boy, sparkly pink gay, sinfully tight, so-much-skin-it-should-be-against-school-rules, suave and debonair, and, surprisingly, jock. He has answered all the gleeks' and cheerleaders' questions with, "A fashion experiment." Which was true; he has concluded that Puck really likes him in tight clothing.

Puck has taken to singing and dancing. He makes sure that when Mike and Matt are free-styling during a song, he's there, too. He also volunteers for more solos and fights to take some away from Finn; they're not on good terms, so what does it matter if he makes it worse? His showcasing makes him more popular with the gleeks. Especially after doing "Dancing Through Life"—you can _never_ go wrong with _Wicked_. Everyone, surprised at his new enthusiasm, chalks it up to Puck stepping out of his box, Puck finally growing up, Puck trying to prove something to Quinn.

No one knew what was really going on.

* * *

There are only three days left. Three days, including the weekend. Puck is starting to worry; he hadn't thought it would be this hard to get some fairy into his bed. Of course, Kurt's strength of character, Kurt's audacity and intensity, had been what had attracted him in the first place. But if he didn't fuck the male cheerleader before Monday, his badass-ness would seriously take a hit. It wasn't about sex anymore—well, not _only_ about sex—; it was about getting Kurt to give in.

He needed to up his game.

* * *

Starting his nightly skincare routine, Kurt lets his mind wonder to a certain jock, as it usually does. Playing this game has only told him one thing: Puck wanted him, he honestly wanted _him_. The mohawk-ed beefcake wanted to switch teams, at least momentarily, for someone he used to throw into a dumpster every other morning. It was flattering, if not a bit daunting. If he decided to pursue this, to see the game until the end, his first _everything_ would belong to Puck. There would be no flowers or slow dancing or dates at his favorite restaurant. It would be completely different from any romantic fantasy he'd ever dreamed up. His introduction to the adult world would be as another conquest of a sex-charged teen.

And what was wrong with that? It wasn't like casual sex was some unforgivable crime, depending on your belief system, and sex with Puck was bound to be spectacular. The rumors alone were enough to fulfill his teenage libido. And he wasn't going to just take it like some blushing _girl_. No, he was a man. Hell, that might even be the reason why the jock was so intent on bedding him; maybe Puck just wanted to try something different. Anyway, the reasoning didn't even matter because the diva was going to take this opportunity, and he was going to do it in his usual blaze of bravado and beauty.

Capping the last bottle, Kurt lays out an especially enticing outfit and sets his alarm to _Legally Blonde: The Musical's _"Bend and Snap". He wants to wake up psyched and confident about his plan.

* * *

It is after-school glee practice and Puck is waiting outside the choir room door. He had actually texted Mr. Schue the night before and told him he wanted to perform a song. Mr. Schue had agreed, stating that the only thing he had planned was a run-through of blah, blah, blah, Puck stopped listening. He then texted Mike and Matt and told them what he was doing and what he wanted them to do. They had both enjoyed the idea, and they rehearsed the performance at ten o'clock last night.

So now Puck is waiting for his cue, in an outfit Kurt will hopefully appreciate, and hoping to god that a jock doesn't walk by. But then he realizes that he has nothing to worry about; he's a badass, he's got a mean left hook, and if those excuses don't work, he can just bash any fucktard's head in with his shoes.

While contemplating his new appreciation for footwear, he hears, "And now Puck has decided to surprise us all with a song."

'Oh, it's not just the song that'll surprise you,' the teen thinks as he enters the classroom in a flourish. He freezes in a sensual pose at the doorway and lets his fellow gleeks take in the sight before them: Puck, with arm-length leather gloves, a tight leather vest that laces in the front, black booty shorts, black fishnets, sliver platform stripper high heels, a string of huge fake pearls, and dolled up with gaudy dark makeup.

He sings as their jaws drop, taking a new pose at every sting.

"_How d'you do? I see you've met my faithful handyman  
He's just a little brought down because when you knocked  
He thought you were the candyman._

"_Don't get strung out by the way that I look," _he saunters to the center of the room.  
"_Don't judge a book by its cover," _on "cover" he pulls at his vest_.  
"I'm not much of a man," _pelvic thrust_, "by the light of day,  
But by night I'm one hell of a lover," _he swivels his hips.

He begins to caress himself as he sings_, "I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania._

_So let me show you around," _he holds his hand out to Mike sitting in front of him, who then abruptly stands;_ "maybe play you a sound," _this repeats with Matt to his other side.  
_"You look like you're both pretty groovy." _The two dancers body-roll._  
"Or if you want something visual that's not too abysmal," _Puck sits sideways, stretching out over the newly unoccupied chairs and leaning his back against a giggling Brittany's shoulder. _  
"We could take in an old Steve Reeves movie."_

Matt and Mike share the next verse, switching between lines.

"_I'm glad we caught you at home, could we use your phone?  
We're both in a bit of a hurry.  
We'll just say where we are, then go back to the car  
We don't want to be any worry."_

Puck continues singing.

"_So you got caught with a flat, well, how about that?  
Well babies, don't you panic." _He gets up and places himself between Matt and Mike again. By now everyone is laughing.  
_"By the light of the night when it all seems alright," _he grabs their outside hands_  
"I'll get you a satanic mechanic," _and twirls the two back into their chairs and sashays around the room, gaining many catcalls from the gleeks, mostly the girls.

_So why don't you stay for the night_?" he suggests to Brad the pianist as Mike and Matt echo his last words. _"Or maybe a bite?" _he whispers to a very disturbed Mr. Schue.  
He then approaches Artie who covers his eyes good-naturedly. "_I could show you my favourite obsession._"  
He climbs the wide steps, passing Finn and stroking his hair, earning himself a glower as he sings,_ "I've been making a man,"_ he then blows a kiss at Jesse,_ "with blond hair and a tan,"_  
He travels to other side of the room, stopping behind a certain soprano._  
"And he's good for relieving my tension,"_ he sings lowly in Kurt's ear.  
_  
_The hooker-jock struts back to the front of the room to finish his song proudly. Those who know the words sing along with him.

"_I'm just a Sweet Transvestite from Transexual, Transylvania._

_So come up to the lab. And see what's on the slab._  
_I see you shiver with antici... pation!_  
_But maybe the rain isn't really to blame_  
_So I'll remove the cause, but not the symptom!_"

He poses at the final sting of the piano and everyone, minus Finn because he's actually very uncomfortable with direct gayness, applauds. He takes a few bows, allowing everyone to take his performance as the joke is was meant to be but also trying to see if he had affected Kurt with his show.

The male diva is acting like everyone else: clapping, laughing, and chattering about his outfit.

Puck acknowledges his defeat as he does a few turns and answers questions about his getup. Where did you get those shoes? Why didn't you tell me you were going to do this? You put on your own makeup, didn't you?

Then Mr. Schue announces that practice is over and to have a nice weekend. The mohawk-ed teen nods his goodbyes and heads to the bathroom to change. When he finishes washing his face, the mirror reflects Kurt standing behind him.

"Come home with me," the blue-eyed boy commands casually. "My dad will be out all weekend. I told him to go fishing with his friends."

"Sweet." He tries to keep his voice nonchalant, not wanting to turn Kurt off with smug satisfaction. He had WON. He was still a badass.

The soprano rolls his eyes at the smirk leaking onto Puck's face. "Oh, please. I was going to invite you over with or without you having to cross-dress."

The mohawk-ed teen's face drops a little at the statement before perking up. "But I was hot, right?"

Kurt seems to deliberate for a moment before letting out a smirk of his own. "Next time, let _me_ put on your makeup."

* * *

No one sees Puck get into the sleek Lincoln Navigator.

**Yay! Chapter two done! God, I'm supposed to be writing an essay. I'm late as is! So you must all love me for my sacrifice. JK. I hoped you liked it. And don't worry, it's not over. The next chapter is pretty much just sex. I don't know when that'd be up, though; I'm kinda uncomfortable with writing smut. The story's good as is, though. But if a smut fairy hits me with pervert dust, the next chapter'll be up soon. Much luv!**


	3. Match

**Ah, sorry it took me forever, but I'm a slow writer naturally. I mean, it took me **_**weeks**_** just to write the first chapter, and this one is, like, TWICE that! Thank you: ****[maeby. sparrow****], ****[Luffly Emi****], ****[Twisted Ingenue****], and everyone who favorited/alerted this story. Here's bringing you semi-plotless smut!**

Having arrived at the house, Puck is surprised when he's lead down a flight of stairs.

"You're bedroom is the _basement_?" The jock's mind is racing with all the possibilities such an isolated room would bring.

Kurt, who has gotten quite good at reading that perverted mind over the passed few weeks, answers, "Don't get too excited; it doesn't solve the _overhearing_ problem."

The stud smirks as he catches sight of the pristine room. "Then it's a good thing your dad's not home."

The diva chooses not to answer and, instead, sits down on the edge of his bed, slightly nervous. He had his entire course of action planned out. Everything he needed to do to get to his objective had been meticulously memorized, and he runs through the list again as Puck sits down next to him.

They sit in silence and Puck is beginning to think that nothing's going to happen when Kurt suddenly laces his fingers through his mohawk and brings him in for a kiss.

But their lips don't meet; the smaller teen stills, and the jock recalls that this is probably the fairy's first kiss and that the kid is nervous. So he gently places one hand on Kurt's shoulder and the other on the base of his neck and closes the last few centimeters between them.

Kurt falls into the kiss eagerly, glad that his supposed hesitation had given him his desired result—he may be giving up romance, but he still wants someone to kiss _him_, dammit, not the other way around. He then moans quietly and turns his body completely towards the jock, genuinely wanting more. Things rapidly get steamy, but then the diva, breathless, pulls away. Puck is about to growl in frustration when a quiet voice asks, "Do you fantasize about me?"

The mohawk-ed teen internally gripes about being the victim of yet another episode of insecurity but stops when he looks at the boy in front of him. Kurt's eyes are smoldering, their usual icy blue has darkened. His lips, puffy and red from the frenzied kissing, are parted, and the breath that leaves them comes out in small pants.

The jock then realizes that the princess of gays is actually talking dirty with him. He smirks before replying, "Yeah," and then pulls the soprano into his lap.

They are kissing again, now grinding together, when there is a break in passion; "How did you picture it?" Kurt is murmuring low, following his plan, enticing Lima's number one man-whore. "How do you want it?"

Puck's mouth attacks the pale neck as he reels his mind in and thinks things over. He had expected some "wilting flower" or a little nervousness, but this—the diva moans wantonly at a rougher nibble at soft flesh—this only happened in his more uninhibited dreams.

"I want it like this," he admits, "With you riding me, full cowgirl."

Kurt smiles and gives a particularly hard grind. "Me too," he pants out.

Their eyes lock for a few seconds, breaking only when the cheerleader reaches down and nimbly pulls Puck's shirt over his head. The diva tugs lightly at his nipple ring while the jock's hands fly to Kurt's shirt, ready to return the favor.

But the blue-eyed boy smirks and leans back, slapping Puck's hands away. "Ah-ah," he tuts and continues his explanation with, "Armani."

And Puck _really_ growls when the smaller boy gets off of him, off of the bed, to remove his shirt and delicately fold it over a chair.

But the jock's frustration turns into a different kind of heat when Kurt's hands continue to his skin-tight pants, and, after neatly putting those away as well, he stands before Puck: naked, unabashed, cock hard.

Only one thought runs through the mohawk-ed head: Fucking Hot.

Kurt crawls on top of Puck, who leans back, making quick work of his own pants, which the diva unceremoniously pushes to the floor. They look each other over, appreciating what the other is offering, before Kurt bends forward to give Puck a quick kiss, straddling his waist.

The jock wants to get the show on the road, though, so he grabs the soprano's cock and gives a few hard strokes, relaying his impatience.

"I need to prep myself," the younger teen gasps out. "Lube. Nightstand. Third drawer."

It's a bit of an issue to stretch over so far—Kurt almost falls off of the mohawk-ed teen when Puck has to turn his body—but the blind reach is successful, and the jock hurries to open the tube.

"Make sure it's not superglue," the diva chimes absently. Lost to sexual need and desire, he is obviously not thinking clearly.

"You keep superglue in your nightstand?" But the implication of what that sort of mix-up would mean causes Puck to check the label regardless.

"No. I didn't actually mean to say that out loud. _House_," he answers, unfocused, but it's not really an explanation.

The jock's mind is now back on track and, well acquainted with what to do with lube and tight holes, Puck deftly slicks up his fingers and slides them into Kurt. He feels the smaller teen tense but continues to loosen him up. The diva rocks back onto the fingers and, mewling, gladly accepts the new sensation. It felt so much better when it was someone else's fingers.

The mohawk-ed teen adds a third finger but gets impatient after another minute. "C'mon, babe. Don't hog all the fun." He emphasizes his point with a shallow upward thrust.

The soprano sighs when the fingers leave him and bites his bottom lip cutely as he positions himself over Puck's cock. He whimpers as he takes it in, not used to being stretched so wide. The jock feels Kurt attempt to relax around him as he slowly slides down his entire length. The smaller teen bites his lip harder, his brow furrowed in pain. Puck, tapping into some unknown reserve of endurance, remains completely still and murmurs encouragements to the diva.

When Kurt finally engulfs that last inch, the feeling of being completely filled by a real, hot, throbbing penis wins out over the pain and pushes him over the edge. And he comes. It actually takes some restraint on Puck's part to not orgasm as well as the younger teen clamps around him and lets out a strangled cry, but the jock painstakingly waits through Kurt's post-coital high, knowing that as soon as they start up again, his patience would have been worth it.

The diva turns red as he regains his senses, mortified that he had come before he was actually fucked. Puck just smirks and pulls the soprano down for a kiss. "I'm gonna make you come plenty of times tonight," he murmurs, smoothly covering what could have been an awkward moment.

Kurt shoots the jock a grateful look and braces his hands on the muscular chest as he meets Puck's thrusts, essentially lifting himself with his knees and dropping down in a counter rhythm.

"Fuck, Hummel," the jock groans out, just as their speed picks up.

The diva freezes and lifts himself completely off of Puck, holding his cock as he hovers over it. The mohawk-ed teen thrusts uselessly, thinking only about getting back inside that tight hole.

Kurt pins the stud with a stare darkened with lust and intent. "The person _inside_ me will not call me by my last name." He pulls even farther away as he waits for a response.

"Ok, yeah, alright. Kurt!" the larger teen grinds out helplessly, forgetting for the moment that he was stronger—and more badass—than the male diva and that _he _should be the one giving orders.

The soprano smiles wickedly before swiftly dropping onto Puck and losing himself to their primitive pleasure.

They are moving in earnest, rapid and hard. Senseless noise and profanities leave their lips, but when they moan each other's names it's "Kurt. Damn, Kurt" and "Puck, Puck, Puck, Puck, Puck!"

They orgasm together, barely minutes in, Kurt calling out, "Puck!" and the jock opting for a more crude, "Holy, shit!"

Almost immediately afterward, Puck flips them over and fucks the diva in missionary position. The night continues on in a similar fashion, changing positions after each round; they have wanted each other for so long, and their imagination has stored quite a few ideas.

Finally, they are spent and catching their breath. Kurt is resting his head on a deliciously glistening chest, absently pulling on the nipple ring and musing over the fact that he had just experienced the best night of his life. Well, maybe not better than going backstage for _Wicked_ for Christmas, but this night was extremely pivotal in his teenage existence.

* * *

Puck is listening to the percussion of his slowing heartbeat when he feels the bed shift slightly; Kurt has begun to pet his mohawk. The action is actually quite soothing, and he allows himself to drift off to sleep, happy and surprisingly content.

* * *

When the jock wakes up the next morning, the fist thing he sees is Kurt standing over him, hair wet and in a plush, white robe. "Puck. Wake up. Go take a bath."

Not a morning person, the mohawk-ed teen unthinkingly gets out of bed and walks through the first door he sees which, thankfully, is the bathroom. He only actually wakes up when a spray of hot water hits him, taking him from drowsy sleepyhead to "Ouch! What the fuck!" After remedying the situation, he takes a quick shower, spending more time trying to figure out what's shampoo and what's soap then actually putting the stuff on.

When he walks back into the room, the diva is nowhere to be seen, but there's another white robe laid out for him on the bed. Puck sneers briefly before allowing himself to put it on. It was too small, but, holy crap, was it soft. If he was a lesser man, he would have hugged himself and ran his hands over the fluffy fabric. But of course he didn't. And of course he didn't think that he was cuddly. Damn, that robe was soft.

The studly teen then ascends the stairs and follows the music into the kitchen, where Kurt is currently stirring something at the stove. After briefly thinking that whatever the soprano is cooking smells _amazing_, he plops onto a chair at the table and sourly announces, "I smell like a girl."

The diva is still working when he replies, "Oh, stop complaining, Puck," and the jock thinks that Kurt is back to his bitchy self when the smaller teen turns around with a playful smirk on his lips. "I bet you smell _delicious_."

They stay a moment, eyes locked. Puck raises his eyebrows in contained surprise as the soprano continues with his sultry look.

Then the Cheerio abruptly turns back.

There is an awkward silence until the jock says, "So why am I wearing this gay bathrobe?"

Even without seeing Kurt's face, the mohawk-ed teen knows his comment produces an eye-roll.

"There's no point in putting on clothes that you're just going to take off," the soprano answers matter-of-factly.

"Then why don't I just go naked?"

The diva scoffs. "Please. I will have _some_ sort of decency in this house."

And then silence reigns again as the two boys become lost in thought. Kurt is hoping that the other teen hasn't noticed his shaking hands; the soprano is now extremely nervous. The boldness he had last night had been spurred by his intricate and premeditated plan. But he hadn't thought about the morning after. He had no clue what to do and was barely able to keep up the confidence he had felt before.

Puck, on the other hand, is thinking about the blue-eyed boy's words, mildly surprised—again—about the understated promise of more sex. He hadn't really expected anything beyond a one-night stand, thinking that the other boy wouldn't want him for more than that. He then figures that he should just get used to the fact that Kurt was going to fuck up any, and possibly all, preconceptions he had had about the fairy.

The jock then looks back to the still-cooking teen, and his heart thumps loudly. It kinda scares him: Kurt acting all domestic and wife-y.

"We're not dating, you know," he says, feeling the need to state it out loud.

The diva doesn't stop his task as he answers, "I know. I have a penchant for being womanly, remember? This includes cooking. Besides, I don't trust my dad with more than a microwave."

A few moments pass before the sitting teen speaks again. "This is so weird. I've never spent this much time with someone after fucking them."

"What?" the soprano begins teasingly, now setting the table and doling out scrambled eggs, "Noah Puckerman's never had breakfast with his sex partners?"

"I'm not usually there when they wake up in the morning" is answered with a shrug.

And Kurt pauses from the first bite he was about to take when something in him—the part that's all white, warm, and glow-y—is struck by the other's words, and he feels like the jock needs some comfort. Of course, some wires get crossed, or something snaps, because the soprano suddenly changes from sympathetic to re-sex-charged. Maybe it has to do with the fact that some of Puck's robe fell open.

"I wanna suck your cock," he informs the mohawk-ed teen calmly.

The older boy chokes on the spoonful of eggs in his mouth as the other laughs melodiously and sinks under the table.

Puck has downed half his glass of orange juice when he hears the diva ask, "You good up there?"

The jock takes a final gulp and answers with a rough voice, "Yeah."

"Good." And then it's the soprano who has his mouth full.

It's a bit awkward at first, tentative and clumsy, but then it gets really, really, good; the younger teen deep throats and even swallows when he's finished.

Puck is left catching his breath. "Damn, Kurt…"

The blue-eyed boy just pops back into his seat. "Come on, breakfast is getting cold."

* * *

They spend the rest of the weekend watching TV and movies in Kurt's room. The Cheerio allows himself to indulge in popcorn as Puck tries to explain baseball to him and even miraculously finds a way to ignore the fashion travesty that is stirrup pants long enough to think that sports are stupid but not entirely unentertaining.

Oh, and they have lots and lots of sex. Like bunny rabbits.

The two teens find themselves becoming increasingly comfortable with each other and realize that whatever they have together is too good to give up after just one weekend. They are both silently hating Monday.

It is five in the afternoon on Sunday when Kurt's iPhone rings. They pause their activity—the diva is riding Puck again—when the caller ID reads "Dad".

"Hello?... Okay… Pizza would be fine… Oh, I…I was in the middle of an aerobic workout… Mm-hmm, love you, too. Bye."

The jock leers as Kurt places his phone back on the nightstand. "Some workout, huh?"

The soprano rolls his eyes. "_You're_ just _lying_ there."

Puck smirks and thrusts a few times as an answer.

"My dad says he's on his way home." The smaller teen then gets off and stands by the bed. The other's muttered string of curses stops when Kurt continues, "Fuck me up against the wall."

The jock takes in the diva's playful smile and complies enthusiastically.

* * *

Puck gets up from where they had sunk to the floor and slowly gathers his clothes. He pauses when buttoning his pants as he catches sight of his sitting bed buddy: naked, messy, and casually looking up at him. And he likes it. He likes the fact that Kurt doesn't hide himself, that the diva is unashamed of their actions and decisions. They've grown to respect each other over the past few weeks, and especially these last two days, and the mohawk-ed teen has come to see Kurt as an equal. And he finds it amazingly refreshing. The jock was used to being bossed around or taking control in a relationship, so this feeling of **partnership** is new.

Which is why he leans down and kisses Kurt softly, the soprano making a contented noise as he laces his fingers into Puck's mohawk.

"See you tomorrow, Puck," the smaller teen states as their lips part.

The older boy is putting on his shirt as he walks up the stairs. "You can call me by my name, too, Kurt."

And they both smile to themselves as they think that there was no way things would ever go back to the way they were before.

**So I hope you liked it! A sequel should be up, eventually, too. Please ignore any weird tense things I may have done; writing in present participle messes me up, and it doesn't help that they **_**think**_** in ****PAST**** tense. So, yeah, I did what I could to keep it understandable. And also, if some things don't add up, just fill in the holes with your imagination. I can't do all the work, lol. So yeah, reviews are welcomed, though not necessary. Most people don't read this anyway. Thanks for adding my fic into your memories! Much luv!**


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